


Words to Live by

by MorganD



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Jalec Spring Break, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-05-26
Packaged: 2018-11-05 05:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11006919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganD/pseuds/MorganD
Summary: The words of their oath follow Jace and Alec throughout their lives.





	Words to Live by

_Entreat me not to leave thee_

Five of Valentine’s followers have Jace surrounded. Just from the way they handle their swords, he can tell only one of them—the sandy-haired woman with a scar on her chin—is a born Nephilim. The other four were created by Valentine with the Mortal Cup, and the few months of training they’ve received are not a match to Jace’s experience. Still, the numbers are in their favor, and fighting five at the same time isn’t exactly…

Well, four. The tallest guy of the group has just been put out of the game by an incoming arrow that pierced his neck through and through.

Make that three. There goes the blond with the beard, with an arrow into his chest.

The others finally seem to realize _something_ is happening. Jace can’t even blame them; the two arrows came up so quickly one after the other, almost as if there were two archers at the end of the hall, and not just Alec.

The moment of distraction as the remaining rogue Shadowhunters spot the new threat proves to be lethal. Jace plunges his sword into the stomach of the bald, bulky guy, while another of Alec’s arrows finishes the short fellow with the goatee.

Now the only one left is the only one who actually knows how to fight.

“Jace?” asks Alec.

“Mine,” Jace says simply. Maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s savage, but it’s hard to deny that part of him that savors a real challenge.

Alec certainly thinks he’s being an idiot, but he’ll respect his choice.

With her eyes firmly on Jace, the woman slowly steps away from the fallen bodies, in search of a more open space for their fight. Jace approves and follows her.

Before they can clash their swords, though, the ground is shaken by a thundering blast. The wall next to Alec explodes into the hall, covering him with heavy rubble.

_No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…_

The woman lost her balance and fell to one knee when the explosion hit, and Jace is merciless. He cuts her head off with one mighty swing of his blade before she can even look up. Nothing matters now besides getting to Alec.

Two more men from Valentine’s army try to make their way through the hole in the wall, but the passage is too narrow and filled with debris. Jace slays them both before they make it inside.

“Alec!” he cries, digging through bricks and cement to reach his parabatai.

He knows Alec is alive… but he can also tell that Alec is in pain, and that something’s seriously wrong with his leg. Jace doesn’t exactly _feel_ the same things his parabatai does, not as if they were his own feelings, but since they became lovers, their _awareness_ of each other’s sensations and emotions grew dramatically. And right now Jace’s right leg is pulsing painlessly, but in a way that informs him that Alec’s leg is probably broken.

“Alec, talk to me,” Jace pleads, working as fast as he can.

Alec himself pushes some of the debris to the side, freeing his head and shoulders. “Jace… Jace, you need to go.”

 “Yes, _we_ need to go. As soon as I get you from under all this crap.”

“Jace, listen to me.”

“Nope. Not listening. I can tell you’re about to say something staggeringly stupid. So just don’t, okay?”

“There are more of them coming. You need to go, _now_.”

“I am. In just a moment. And I’m taking you with me.”

“What are you going to do, carry me? While fighting everyone who gets in our way?

“Exactly.” Jace finally clears Alec’s wounded leg, which is twisted at a frightful angle.

“This is no time for dumb heroics, Jace. It’s time for pragmatism.”

“I have no idea what that word means, and you know it.”

“Just put my quiver where I can reach it,” says Alec, raising the bow he’s somehow managed to keep a hold of even as the wall fell on top of him. “I’ll hold them off while you go get reinforcements.”

Jace wishes he could activate Alec’s iratze now, but if he does it before setting the bones straight, the leg won’t heal properly. Moving him will cause tremendous pain… but Jace can’t see any alternative. “Arms around my shoulder, Alec.”

“No.”

“I help you stand, and you put all your weight on your left leg.”

“No.”

“Then you climb on my back, and I run out of here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why are you wasting precious time arguing with me? You know there’s not a single thing you could possibly say to convince me to go without you.”

Alec glares at him, and Jace can feel the waves of anger, exasperation, and _love_ flowing through their enhanced bond.

In the end, Alec himself chooses pragmatism, and concedes. “Fine, you moron,” he snarls. “But you’re not carrying me. Just let me lean on you, I can hop.”

“Alec…”

“You’re not thinking straight, which means I’ll need to protect your dumb ass, and I can’t fight if you’re carrying me. So let’s just go.”

* * *

 

_Or to return from following after thee_

It’s ridiculous how long it takes Jace to find a pen. He can’t even remember the last time he had to use one. Maybe when he was still a kid learning his runes? Messages, notes, reports, everything is typed on phones or computers these days, and his stele obviously deals with his fire messages.

However, those are sent immediately, and he needs something that won’t get to its intended recipient for a couple of hours. Hopefully longer than that. So… he needs a fucking pen.

He finally finds two at the very back of his sock drawer—how did they get there? No idea. The first one he tries doesn’t work, the ink completely dry. The second resists to Jace’s scribbling efforts for a moment, but eventually capitulates, leaving an uneven but clear blue line in its trail.

Okay. Now for the hard part.

_Dear Alec._

“Drop the pen, asshole.”

Jace almost jumps at the interruption. He turns to the door and, to his deep dismay, finds an irate Alec standing at the threshold.

Stupid pen. He had been so concerned about finding it and getting it to work, that he totally missed his parabatai’s arrival.

“Alec…”

“That better not be what I think it is. That better be a poem, or a grocery list. That better be a love letter to some mundane you’re cheating on me with. That would still be better than what I think it is.”

Jace flinches. “I’m sorry, Alec.”

Alec steps fully into the room and slams the door shut. “Let me guess, then. ‘Dear Alec. I’m a thoughtless, harebrained bonehead. Valentine has kidnapped your mom, and told me to go meet him alone. And since I’m a thoughtless, harebrained bonehead, that is _exactly_ what I’m going to do. You stay here and mind the fort. Sorry not sorry. Love, Jace.’ Tell me, did I get it right?”

Jace hands him the paper. “I only got to ‘Dear Alec’ when you came in,” he murmurs.

Alec stares at the page for a second before crumpling it into a ball. “Awesome. Now that we’re done with this hogwash, let’s make a plan to rescue Mom. _Together_.”

* * *

 

_For whither thou goest, I will go_

Jace is not lost.

Jace doesn’t _get_ lost. He has perfect sense of direction, no matter the territory. Which is why he’s never even bothered learning the _true north_ rune. His father used to joke that Jace was a little Nephilim-shaped compass. He could find his way through _everything_.

It’s just that the New York Institute is _huge_ , far bigger than it seemed from the outside, with all its maze-like corridors that look exactly the same, and so many underground levels…

Okay, so maybe he’s a little bit lost.

He can’t be that far off course, though. Maybe if he takes the next left instead of right…

He does. And finds out he’s no longer alone.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” says the dark-haired boy standing there with his arms crossed and a frown on his face.

It’s the son of Jace’s father’s parabatai. “Hi… Alec, right?”

“This level is off-limits for Shadowhunters in training.”

“Then why are _you_ here?” Jace snaps back impatiently.

Alec’s cheeks flush a little. “I’ve come looking for you. I knew you’d get lost.”

“I am not lost!”

“Sure you’re not. Where were you going?”

“To the secret library.”

“The… You mean the restricted collection? How do you even know about it?”

“I overheard the bearded guy with the Circle rune mention it.”

“Hodge? What did he say to make you come here?”

“Nothing, really.” Jace smirks. “It just seems to me that any book that ends up in a secret library is a book worth reading.”

“That’s just silly.”

“You’re saying you don’t agree?”

Alec just gazes at him for a long moment, his lips pressed into a thin line. Eventually, he lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. But you’re going the wrong way.” He walks to Jace, takes his hand, and starts walking in the opposite direction from where Jace had come. “The restricted collection is over there.”

* * *

 

_And where thou lodgest, I will lodge_

Jace doesn’t knock. He turns the doorknob slowly, silently… checks the hallways once more to make sure he’s alone… then swiftly makes his way inside.

Alec’s bedroom is immersed in utter darkness. Eyes open or closed, it makes little difference. Jace can only see the faint contours of his own hands if he holds them up right in front of his face. Everything else is a giant mass of black.

That is no hindrance to him. With three sure steps, he finds the bed.

The top sheet and duvet are folded out on that side of the bed, waiting for him. Jace takes off his top and slippers, and lies down.

And immediately feels his parabatai’s arms wrap around him, tucking them both in.

“Welcome home,” Alec whispers in his ear.

Jace’s fingers run down Alec’s back, softly massaging his naked skin. It’s good to be home.

* * *

 

_Thy people will be my people, thy God will be my God_

Isabelle Lightwood is such a nagging little shit.

The nine-year-old keeps following her big brother around, asking him to play with her, telling him about the things she’s just learned, asking him all kinds of questions, meddling into his business, trying to interfere in his relationship with their father, and pleading him to teach her whatever new combat maneuvers he’s been taught that day.

Jace can’t help but find her adorable.

Especially when she finally runs out of energy and just sits down beside Alec, entwines her arm with his, and rests her head on his shoulder, telling him that he’s a nincompoop, but that she loves him anyway.

“You’re so lucky,” Jace says to Alec one day, after realizing the girl has nodded off in that same position.

“How so?”

Jace sits on Alec’s opposite side and indicates Isabelle with a tilt of his head.

“Oh. My little cross to bear,” Alec sighs, a mirthful smile contradicting the lamenting words.

“I wish I had a little sister,” Jace confesses in a whisper.

“You do?”

“Yeah.”

Alec pokes Izzy’s leg. “Hey. Baby sloth. Wake up.”

“Hmmmm… wha--?”

“Jace needs a little sister. So I’m giving you to him.”

Izzy looks up at Alec with huge, sad eyes. “You’re ditching me?”

“No, silly.” Alec kisses the top of her head. “We’re blood. I couldn’t get rid of you even if I wanted to. I’m just sharing you with Jace. You’re sisterly enough for the both of us. Is that okay?”

“Oh.” She turns to Jace, who’s witnessing this whole interaction with a mix of dread and excitement. “Will you teach me how to throw daggers?”

“No,” says Alec, at the same time that Jace says, “Sure.”

“Then, yes,” replies Isabelle, reaching out to grab Jace’s hand in hers. “I will take you as my brother.”

Alec arches an eyebrow. “Angel, I hope I don’t live to regret this.”

Jace chuckles and copies Izzy’s position on Alec’s opposite side: arm in arm, head on Alec’s shoulder.

They’re going to be unstoppable.

* * *

 

_Where thou diest, I will die_

Clary spots Isabelle in the middle of the ops center, barking orders at the Shadowhunters around her.

“Check the area around St. Vartan Park. Yes, _again!_ And have someone check Vinegar Hills. Why haven’t we heard back from the group we sent to Stuyvesant Town?”

“Izzy,” Clary calls gently.

“I can’t talk right now, Clary.”

“Izzy… they’ve found them.”

Isabelle freezes. Everybody in hearing distance freezes.

“What? Who…?”

“Luke called me,” Clary explains. “His pack found them. In Red Hook, by the docks.”

“They were there this whole time?!” yells Izzy. “Doing what, eating Chinese takeout and watching the boats go by? When those two get here, my whip’s gonna give them a piece of its mind!”

Clary rests her hands on her friend’s shoulder. “Izzy…” She shakes her head, unable to put it into words.

Isabelle meets Clary’s forlorn gaze, and… “No.”

“I’m so sorry, Iz.”

“No. Just… no. You’re mistaken. Luke is mistaken. His wolves are mistaken.”

“I went there myself. I saw them. The bodies. There’s no mistake.”

“It’s a trick. A glamour. A spell. It’s not real. It can’t be.” Tears run down Isabelle’s face, unchecked. “Clary… Tell me you’re lying. Please, please, tell me…”

She can’t finish the sentence.

Clary hugs her tight, her own eyes flooding as well. “I wish I could. I wish I could bring them back. But they’re gone, Iz. I’m so, so sorry.”

“How? What…?”

“Demons. An ambush, apparently. Judging by the amount of ichor in the area, they managed to kill a lot of them before…” Clary gulps. “They were both stung… too many times.”

Around the two women, grief falls upon the Shadowhunters as the news spread quickly. Some of them drop onto the nearest chairs, struggling with tears of their own.

“Were they…” Isabelle sniffs, trying to regain control of her voice. “Were they together? I mean, the… the bodies. Were they close together? When you found them?”

Clary closes her eyes. The details of that awful image will haunt her dreams for years to come. However, that one comfort she can offer Isabelle with honesty. “Side by side. Hand in hand. Fingers entwined.”

“Thank the Angel…”

* * *

 

_And there will I be buried_

Deborah runs among the tombstones, unafraid. Her friends keep telling her that the cemetery is a scary place, but all she can see is pretty stones and statues and flower bouquets. Why would anyone be afraid of that?

She knows she shouldn’t be here. Mommy will probably come after her as soon as she realizes she’s not with her cousins anymore, but she was _so bored_. They’re older and keep talking over her head about things she doesn’t understand, and none of them wanted to play hopscotch with her.

Then someone mentioned that their grandmother was likely to be here, so Deborah sneaked out as soon as she found an opportunity. Grandma was _cool!_ She never talked down to Deborah and never ignored her. She was always willing to answer questions and tell funny stories about when she was younger.

Deborah finds her sitting on a bench, with two bouquets of white roses in her hands. “Grandma?”

“Debbie? What are you doing here, sweetie?”

“Came to find you.”

“Did you run away from your parents again?”

“Nah!”

“Nah?”

“Just my cousins. They don’t count.”

Grandma smirks. “I see.”

“Why are _you_ here, Grandma?”

“I’m visiting,” says Grandma, turning to the grave right in front of her.

Deborah sits down on the bench, next to her grandmother. “Who’s that?”

“That’s your great-uncle. My brother.”

“I don’t remember him. Did he live here in Alicante?”

“No. He was born here, but he lived practically his whole life in New York.”

“In the Institute? Why don’t I remember seeing him, then?”

“He’s been gone for a very long time, sweetie. Since before your mother was even born.”

“Oh.” Deborah stares at the name engraved on the stone, parsing the letters. A-le-xan-der.

Alexander.

Alexis.

“His name looks like Mommy’s,” she points out.

Grandma smiles. “Yes. Your mommy is my oldest child, so I gave her a name proper of a Lightwood heir.”

“It’s a big name.”

“It is. Most of us just called him Alec to make things easier.”

“Was he like Mommy? Daddy says names’ meanings are important.”

Grandma laughs out loud. “Their name means ‘protector of people’. And Alec was truly as much of a mother hen as your mom. So yes, names’ meanings are important… my little bee.”

Deborah giggles. “Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…”

“But genes are important, too,” adds Grandma more seriously.

“Genes?”

“Genes are biological elements that are passed down the family and, for example, make you look the way you look. And it is you who inherited Alec’s eyes.”

“Oh. Is that a good thing?” Deborah asks, uncertain.

With a wrinkled hand, Grandma brushes Deborah’s hair off her eyes in a tender caress. “That is a very, very good thing, sweetie.”

Deborah turns back to the grave, now noticing the leafy vine that has covered the base of the tombstone and then spread to the grave right next to it, wrapping the other marker in a green embrace.

 “What about that one?” she asks. “Who is it?”

“That is Jace, your great-uncle’s parabatai. The person he loved the most in the entire world.”

“Ah. That makes sense. The plant knows.”

Grandma seems confused for a moment, but as she takes another look at the two gravestones, she smiles. “Yes. I guess it does.”

“Did Jace love him back?”

“Yes. They loved each other very much.”

“I’m glad they’re together, then.”

“Me too, honey. Me too.”

* * *

 

_The Angel do so to me, and more also_

There’s no up or down. There’s them, and there’s a storm surrounding them, frightening and magnificent.

There’s still a Jace and there’s still an Alec, although the boundaries are getting harder and harder to define. They picture themselves as still having their hands entwined, just as in the moment they died. But in all truthiness, there are no hands anymore, no flesh, no bones. Just them and their convoluted _togetherness_.

The pair of wings that emerge from the storm is wider than Ithuriel’s, the body they carry looks much healthier, and the face on top of it seems younger and less amicable. There’s no up or down, but still it feels like the Angel is staring at them from above.

Alec is dumbstruck. Jace is irritated. They await their judgment with trepidation.

They might have been able to hide their crime from the Clave for all those years, but the Angel knows. The Angel sees what they are, what they have become.

The celestial being reaches out to the both of them, touching them _inside_.

They hear… something. The Angel’s voice, loud and piercing.

Alec doesn’t understand the words.

Jace does, though, and Alec knows what Jace knows.

_“The laws of men do not concern me.”_

It’s okay. They’re okay. Whatever else the Angel might think of them, their togetherness does not offend him in any way.

* * *

 

_If aught but death part thee and me_

“What do you think will happen now?”

“How should I know? The Angel has given us a door. We cross it. We see what’s on the other side.”

“Will we still be a ‘we’?”

“I don’t know if we can _not_ be a ‘we’ anymore. I don’t know what I am without you.”

“If we’re not together…”

“I will find you. You will find me. And then we find _us_.”

“All over again…”

“As many times as we have to.”

“I hope you didn’t think this was the end of our adventures.”

“Oh, I knew since we first met. With you…”

“…it’ll always be an adventure.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 4 of Jalec Spring Break – Parabatai Oath
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as morgandeeyue.


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